


A Very Wiggleverse Snektember

by OlwenDylluan, Quilly



Series: Quodlibets [7]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Family Fluff, Gen, Kedreeva's Wiggleverse, Snektember, Soft Zone, does it count as kid fic if the kids are snakes but so is one of the parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:14:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 15,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26256235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlwenDylluan/pseuds/OlwenDylluan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quilly/pseuds/Quilly
Summary: A compilation of micro fics inspired by the Snektember prompt list, all written in the Wiggleverse, by OlwenDylluan and Quilly. Nothing but soft snaby feels and Ineffable Parents here!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Quodlibets [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1589863
Comments: 185
Kudos: 163
Collections: Wiggleverse





	1. Sunbathing

**Author's Note:**

> Joyous season, folks! I realize we are a little late, but from here on out we are going to be keeping up with our Snektember posts throughout Snektember! Quilly's taking odds, Olwen is taking evens, and we promise, it's just going to be a huge soft zone. Nothing linear, nothing plotty, all snabies and good feels. We could all use that right about now. Enjoy! We love you!

It occurred to Aziraphale that he hadn’t heard the hissing of tiny tongues in quite a while.

Aziraphale getting lost in a book was not a new phenomenon. However, as of a few days ago, hosting five infant snakes in his bookshop was, and Aziraphale felt the acute flush of shame accompanying his realization that he had quite neglected the poor dears for—he checked his pocket watch—almost three hours now. Nor had he heard Crowley sulking about, in either form.

“Hello?” he called, standing from his armchair and wishing he could brush the discomfort from his soul as easily as he could the lint from his jacket. “Crowley? Children?”

He wandered from the back room towards the main floor of the bookshop, where the oculus was casting a bright ring of light from the sun, illuminating an oddly-shaped black lump sitting on top of a stack of books on a table. Aziraphale approached it, concerned, then slowed as the image registered, putting a hand to his heart.

That was Crowley, that black lump, curled over the display of books, with five tiny buttons of curled-up snakelet scattered over his back, four black and one white perched on his head, all gleaming in the afternoon sun and clearly sound asleep. Aziraphale felt his heart throbbing in his chest and pressed it more firmly to get it to settle down.

He could return to his book. Crowley clearly had it covered out here with the little ones.

A quiet snap brought Aziraphale’s chair out on the edge of the ray of sun, and he settled into it with a sigh, silencing the squeaky springs of the chair and settling into it with minute, quiet movements. A nap sounded lovely, actually. If the patch of light didn’t move for longer than normal, nobody would have to know.


	2. Basket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This scene takes place after [A Rose by Any Other Name Would Smell as Sweet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20492753), the night after the snabies hatch and the Ineffable Dads name them all. The echoes of remembered dialogue are directly from Kedreeva's [Getting A Wiggle On](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20467451), the original fic that launched the Wiggleverse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> September 2 2020 makes exactly one year since I published my first Wiggleverse fic, because Kedreeva wouldn't tell us what happened next. Yay!

There had been babies where there ought to have been inert hollow balls, and then Junior had let the cat out of the--well, snake out of the bag, he supposed, telling him that Aziraphale loved him.

_It could... what?_

_Change. If we wanted._

Not like anything else had stayed status quo, after all. Or rather, it had, thanks to the derailed Armageddon. Things had just... shifted behind the scenes. Heaven and Hell weren’t their problem anymore, though. Hadn’t been for a couple of years.

 _Of_ course _I love you too._

Not the way he’d expected it to happen, but when had he ever been in control of anything, really? Supernatural pinball, that’s what he was, ricocheting from here to there throughout all of time.

Pinball, ping-pong balls. Maybe the universe was laughing at him. No, scratch that; the universe was definitely laughing at him.

_And apparently the kids love you, too. Can’t blame them, you did sort of invent them._

He had _children_. No-- _they_ had children. 

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. The night air was cool, and while normally he’d avoid that if given the choice, tonight he needed a bit of chill to ground him, remind him that it was all really happening, that it wasn’t a hallucination. As if the session at the kitchen table with multiple bottles of wine while trying to name their five wriggly ribbon progeny hadn’t been real enough.

No, no matter how he phrased it in his mind, it still seemed unreal.

He looked out over Soho, leaning on the railing that edged the roof of Aziraphale’s building. Below, people moved about, living their lives, car tyres squealing, music coming from various competing speakers outside restaurants and clubs, sharp laughter coming from patrons leaving such establishments.

And among all this, he had a family downstairs. A _family_.

He straightened up and took a last lungful of the night air before turning to the industrial door that accessed the roof. Down the maintenance staircase he went, stepping quietly into the dim bookshop at the bottom, moving to the terrarium Aziraphale had obtained in anticipation of the tiny snakes’ arrival.

It was empty. He paused for a moment, then shook his head. He’d left Aziraphale alone for too long; the angel had fretted, and rather than staying in the bookshop with the serpents, he’d brought them upstairs. Because of course he had.

When he moved into the flat, the kitchen and sitting room were empty, the lights off. Stepping further down the hall, he paused in the doorway to Aziraphale’s bedroom and looked in. Uncharacteristically, the angel was lying on the bed, curled up on his side, eyes closed. He was napping for the second time that day. Evidently bringing magical baby ping-pong snakes into the world was exhausting.

He could feel their tiny drops of life force in the room as well, close to Aziraphale. Furrowing his brow, he stepped noiselessly into the room, bending down a bit to see more clearly.

Tucked into the curve of the angel’s arm, snugged against his chest, was a small basket the angel usually used for a catch-all on a shelf. It had been emptied of random things, and in it were five slender ribbons, each coiled up but still touching the others. As if this weren’t enough, the angel had covered each of them in with silk pocket squares from the precious sandalwood box he stored them in, the edges lovingly tucked under each knot of scales, tails, and snouts.

Crowley had to close his eyes. He discovered that he was also clenching his fists as he tried to contain the wave of emotion that threatened to close over him. He hadn’t signed up for this. The intensity of these feelings was not okay. He wasn’t ready.

_We’re changing lots of other things._

Well. Neither of them had signed up. Nor had the babies, had they. They’d all have to muddle along somehow.

Somewhere under all the panic and emotion, there was something warm, something precious, that he didn’t dare focus on too closely. A little golden seed of potential, of promise.

He quietly moved around the bed and lay down next to Aziraphale, fitting his body along the angel’s back. Lifting a hand, he hesitated for a moment, then gently settled his arm over the angel, his fingers coming to rest in the little basket. The silk was cool against his skin, and the life sparks under the silk thrummed faintly.

Aziraphale hadn’t wanted the children to be alone. Well, it looked like neither of them would have to worry about being alone, now. 

Crowley sighed, closing his eyes in what felt suspiciously like contentment at the idea.


	3. Ducks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Snektember goodness, this time involving the prompt Ducks! I had a specific image in mind and am not sure if I made it but enjoy more infant snabies, they do my heart good.

“Oh, come meet us at the park, darling, he says,” Crowley grumbled, shaking water from his boot as he trudged down a fresh post-rain street towards St. James’ Park, grown bored now of cursing every puddle in his way. “The weather’s ever so fine, he says. Toodle-pip and so on. Bah.”

Crowley nursed his foul mood all the way to the park, where it congealed into confusion when he didn’t immediately see his angel and their brood anywhere. It further solidified into panic the longer he searched, until he realized an angelic beacon was pinging him quite pointedly, like throwing ethereal pips at his head. To Crowley’s confusion, the pinging was coming from, of all things, a duck. Just a white and brown duck, drifting in the water.

Crowley approached said duck and noticed it had markings around its neck that resembled a bow tie and groaned. The duck, for its part, honked cheekily and continued to swim in a lazy circle as Crowley walked right up to the edge of the pond.

“I suppose you think you’re very funny, do you,” Crowley scowled. “Where’re the kids?”

The duck quacked again, turned its back, and nestled against the duck’s mottled feathers were five tiny snakes, all looking as though they were enjoying themselves immensely.

_Father! Azirafather is taking us for a swim!_

_Father!_

_Father, look! A beetle!_

“Stay put on the duck, Junior, for Satan’s sake,” Crowley growled, though without much heat as the offspring in question obeyed, though with a slightly more adventurous craning of the head over Aziraphale’s wing than Crowley would have liked. Crowley collapsed in a heap of limbs on the shore and watched as Aziraphale proudly swam in circles and quacked.

“Yes, alright, it’s adorable, you’ve caught me,” Crowley hissed at the third pass Aziraphale made. “Stop looking at me like that.”

_Get in, Father! The water is cool!_

“Not like this, would ruin my trousers all over again,” Crowley shook his head, pointedly ignoring the grass and mud and rainwater soaking into his seat. At a reproachful quack from Aziraphale, Crowley sighed.

_Please, Father!_

_Come see us!_

“I do see you,” Crowley said. He looked left. He looked right. “Oh, fine.”

It was very lucky that it had just rained, really; fewer people to notice or comment on the oddity of a large black snake slipping into the pond and trailing after a duck carrying further snakes on its back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, the canonicity of this chapter is debatable given shapeshifter Aziraphale is not something I have ever seriously dabbled in, but it's adorable and I love it and there may or may not be an awful doodle sitting in my iPad of this particular snamily outing.


	4. Sneks on a Plane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sneks. On a plane.
> 
> Yup.

Aziraphale pushed open the door to the bookshop, hands occupied with holding a takeaway cup of the ridiculously expensive coffee Crowley drank, and a paper bag containing croissants still warm from an oven.

“I do apologize for the wait,” he said. “There was a dreadful queue. Apparently a dozen other people thought fresh croissants were an excellent idea, too.”

He moved toward the back of the shop.

Crowley was standing with one arm wrapped around his chest, the other bent up with the hand firmly clamped over his mouth. His eyes, when he glanced at Aziraphale, were sparkling with mirth. He made a small motion with his head, beckoning Aziraphale closer.

Brow furrowed, he did as Crowley suggested. As he rounded the last bookcase, he saw what had Crowley stifling his response.

On the rug there sat a scratched and faded plastic airplane around sixteen inches long, the kind designed for toddlers, with primary colours never seen on a real aircraft. The top was open—perhaps there had been a roof or lid or some such thing once upon a time—revealing half a dozen divots for figures. On one side a door folded down, stairs built into it.

And it was full of tiny snakes, some reaching up and looking like little periscopes as they peeked out the top, some looking through the windows, one winding up the stairs and through the front cockpit area.

 _Azirafather!_ one cried, and the others looked around eagerly, crying out, _Azirafather, Azirafather!_

 _Aeropane, Azirafather!_ Datura said with great excitement.

“I… see,” Aziraphale said, not really seeing at all. He looked to Crowley, who was now pressing a fist against his mouth to prevent himself from chortling. “Where did you get this, my darlings?”

 _Father!_ they chorused brightly.

Aziraphale lifted an eyebrow. Crowley lowered his fist long enough to say, “Found it at a tag sale, had it laid by till I remembered it.”

 _Welcome Snaby Airlines,_ Junior said importantly. _Today we be flying, but not wings like Father and Azirafather. Magic wings! Wings stay still!_

 _Can eat on plane?_ Clem said hopefully.

 _Yes,_ Angelica said. _Today serve mouse pie, cricket juice, egg dessert!_

 _Where we go?_ wondered Datura.

 _We go park,_ Rosa said. _Fly with birds there!_

Somewhat dazed, Aziraphale sank into a chair. All five of the children positioned themselves in the seat areas and pumped their heads up and down, making zooming noises and various machine-like sounds.

“I can’t,” Crowley muttered into his fist, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “The cute slays me. I thought they’d just explore it. I didn’t expect them to—”

“Play?” Aziraphale put the coffee and pastry bag down to pull out his glasses. He slipped them on, his lips twitching. “Whose children have you been watching grow up?”

Crowley snorted. Aziraphale handed him the coffee, then moved past him.

“Are your seatbelts fastened, children?” he said. “Safety is very important.”

 _But Azirafather,_ Angelica said. _There no seebels here._

“Well then,” he said, crouching down to tip the door closed. “Best hold on to something, then.”

He picked up the toy plane, holding it out at arm’s length, and began turning in place, moving it up and down smoothly as he revolved. The children screamed happily as they zipped through the air, rising and falling.

As he turned, his vision sweeping past the bookshop around them, Aziraphale saw that Crowley had spilled the ridiculously expensive coffee down his shirt and was coughing, the fist now pounding his chest. Aziraphale permitted himself a smug smile, and continued zooming the tiny snakes in their plane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. It’s a beaten up Fisher Price Little People plane. I mashed the vintage style with the new style because I needed the top to come off.
> 
> You’re welcome.


	5. Beach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small warning for anxious Crowley but he'll be fine. Presenting: snabies on a beach!

_Father?_ Rosa asked, and Crowley looked up from his phone to pay more attention to the teensy curl of white scales wrapped around his thumb.

“Yeah?”

 _Where is that?_ Rosa asked, indicating her snout at one of the pictures on Crowley’s Instagram feed. Crowley, who hadn’t been paying much attention in favor of quietly panicking over the existence of the baby snake he was currently having this conversation with, focused his eyes and peered more intently at what she was looking at. It was a picture of a scenic tropical beach, an ad for something or other, but the way Rosa was intently studying the picture made Crowley’s insides go all gooey for no reason whatsoever.

“Erm. Supposed to be a beach, I think,” Crowley said.

_Beach?_

“Yeah. Where the ocean meets the land. Supposed to be all sunny and sandy and all that.”

_Can we go?_

“What, to the beach?” Crowley weathered the initial seizing of his innards quite well, he thought. The snabies were still so young, so small. The thought of bringing them out into the world in any capacity made him nauseous, but to a beach—full of tourists, infested with seagulls, and the pounding, crashing waves that gave full-grown humans trouble—no, no, no, bad idea, bad idea all around, no, no thank you, nope.

 _Father?_ Rosa asked, now looking up at Crowley with her angel-blue eyes, and Crowley realized he’d been frozen and silent for a long time. _What’s wrong?_ _Is the beach bad?_

“No, spawn, no,” Crowley managed. “It’s…well. I don’t—”

“What’s she asking?” Aziraphale called from the other room, and Crowley’s breath hitched.

“Asking ‘bout visiting a beach, angel,” Crowley replied, his voice rougher than usual, and Aziraphale entered the room, his face creased with concern.

“A beach?” Aziraphale repeated. “Well, there’s no beach nearby, darling, though I suppose if we booked a trip—”

Crowley made an involuntary hiss.

“Or,” Aziraphale said, looking Crowley over intently, “or, I suppose…give me a few moments, won’t you?” And Aziraphale exited the room again.

 _Father?_ Rosa convulsed around Crowley’s finger. _Where’s Azirafather going? Is he going to the beach?_

“I’m not sure where he’s going,” Crowley said, seizing on the distraction. “Let’s go see.”

The plan was going well, until Crowley blundered into the back room of the shop, where the other four snakelets were awaking from their nap and insistent that they hitch along on the Father Express, as well, to find out where Azirafather was. As Crowley poked around the bookshop, more putting on a show of searching than actually looking, Rosa informed her siblings of what she had discovered that day, all five curled around a separate finger on Crowley’s hand.

 _I want to see a beach!_ Junior cried. _It sounds big!_

 _Big water,_ Clem mused. _Sounds wet._

 _Sand sounds nice,_ Datura said.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale called from upstairs, his voice carrying a bit easier than most people’s would through the shop. “Bring the children upstairs, would you?”

“Sure thing,” Crowley said, and went for the stairs, bouncing himself along to make the children laugh.

Once upstairs, Crowley tracked Aziraphale through the flat to the bathroom, and once inside of it screeched to a halt and looked over Aziraphale’s handiwork as the angel himself stood to the side of the enormous claw-footed tub and beamed.

Inside of the tub was a beach in miniature, complete with a heat lamp to act as the sun. Two-thirds of the tub was filled with sugar-white sand, studded with seashells and driftwood. One-third was filled with clear greenish-blue water that was lapping gently at the shore of the miniature beach and occasionally making waves big enough to send a small snake tumbling but not put them in any serious danger. Crowley’s throat bobbed.

“This is a beach, children,” Aziraphale said, proudly displaying his work. “A small one. Perhaps we shall take you all when you are older to a proper beach, but for now, I thought we might have fun for an afternoon.”

 _I want to go see Azirafather’s beach!_ Junior hollered, and in chorus the five children urged Crowley to put them down so they could begin to explore. Once Crowley did, he latched onto Aziraphale’s back and hugged him from behind so hard he almost toppled them both into the tub.

“Thanks,” Crowley murmured into Aziraphale’s collar.

“Think nothing of it, my darling,” Aziraphale murmured back. “Come on. Let’s show them how to make a sandcastle.”

By the end of the day, there were pictures on his phone of the children exploring the miraculously detailed sandcastle he’d built for them, and Angelica learning to surf on a flat piece of driftwood, and the snabies burying Clem’s body in the sand as he snoozed. Datura’s seashell-and-sand snowman made an appearance, as well as Junior’s reaction to getting saltwater up his nose and Rosa lounging under a cocktail umbrella.

“One day we’ll take ‘em to the real thing,” Crowley said quietly as their children played. “For now…wanna keep ‘em to ourselves. At least for a little while.”

“We have all the time in the world for that,” Aziraphale smiled. Maybe it was Crowley’s imagination but kissing Aziraphale tasted a bit like coconuts and real sea air, just for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My family recently went on a short beach trip without me this past week and I'm still a little bitter about it, but as always, snabies heal the soul XD One day I'll get back out there, when there isn't a pandemic to worry about.


	6. Naps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry we're behind, real life, you know how it is. We're not gonna kill ourselves trying to keep up but we do want to get the majority of the month knocked out, so we can at least promise that when we each get a minute, we will be doing what we can! Thanks so much for the squees and happy comments, they make us so happy!

It had been a difficult morning.

For whatever reason, tensions had been high since the children awoke that morning, starting with Angelica complaining of a painful crimp in her tail that had gotten there by Clem sleeping on her, so she claimed. That had put her on the outs with Datura, who had awoken feeling cuddly and felt spurned by Angelica’s subsequent need for space. This trickled into Junior getting annoyed at the twin whines that had woken him up, which he took out by snapping at Rosa for looking at him, who then was unkind when she tried to wake up a heavily-sleeping Clem, and the cycle of bad feelings had continued for most of the morning and into the afternoon. Aziraphale was quite at his wit’s end with the whole business.

_Stop touching me!_

_I’m not touching you!_

_Are too!_

_Leave me alone!_

_You’re mean!_

_You’re stupid!_

“Enough!” Aziraphale bellowed, and slammed his book down on the arm of his chair, standing. “Enough, all of you! You are all going to separate corners to think about what you have done, and that’s that!”

What protest kicked up in response was quelled by Aziraphale’s furious gaze and hard-set jaw, and in short order the children were separated and plopped into baskets or other containers littered around the bookshop. They weren’t for long-term use, but for a quick time-out (or a long time-out, Aziraphale grimaced), they would more than do.

Aziraphale retreated to his chair, listening to the quiet sniffles and huffing from the small snakes around the bookshop, and rather than picking his book up again, he started into space and waited until the telltale sounds of soft sibilant snores started up in several time-out corners. Once he was sure the majority of them (or the more troublesome, at least) were asleep, Aziraphale conducted himself upstairs for a time-out of his own.

This is how Crowley found him, curled in a miserable ball on their bed, not so much weeping as letting tears fall from his eyes without bothering to stop them. Crowley tucked himself into the curve of Aziraphale’s legs and propped his arms on Aziraphale’s hip, lying his chin on his arms. Aziraphale welcomed the dear, lanky mass pressed into him, and the soft yellow eyes that looked him over without judgement.

“Rough day?” Crowley said softly. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be gone so long.”

“I can’t do this,” Aziraphale mouthed, fresh tears bubbling up. “Oh, Crowley, how I shouted! But the children…they’ve been restless all day, and at each other’s throats, and I—I—”

“Every kid has bad days,” Crowley said, soothing his thumb over Aziraphale’s thigh. “And not every parent is perfect. We have five, angel, they’re not going to behave perfectly all the time. They’re going to be messy and angry and unholy little terrors sometimes. You’re not wrong for getting frustrated.”

“I should be better than this,” Aziraphale insisted, getting perilously close to blubbering. “I’m the adult, and more than that, I’m an angel with six thousand years’ experience—”

“In childcare?” Crowley raised an eyebrow, and Aziraphale pursed his lips. “This is new for both of us, alright? We’re not going to be perfect at it right off the bat. So you shouted. Did you do it without provocation? Without trying to reason with them first?”

“I…well,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley’s other eyebrow joined the first. “I did try. But. It’s been a Day, my dear one.”

“Then sometimes you’ve got to smite the bad mood,” Crowley said, and squeezed Aziraphale’s hip when Aziraphale smiled weakly at him. “We’ll make it up to them, once they wake up and get done sulking. Alright?”

Aziraphale nodded, and pulled Crowley up so they were lying nose to nose rather than draped on each other.

“I could use a quick break, myself,” Aziraphale murmured, and Crowley nodded, snuggling closer.

“Baby steps,” Crowley murmured back. “Or. Baby slithers, as it were.”

Aziraphale snorted. “Indeed.”

“I’ll keep an ear out, you get some rest,” Crowley promised. Aziraphale was already drifting off before Crowley had even finished his sentence. It had been a very trying day, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, Quilly, am working in childcare again after six months and am not particularly happy about it, but it's good for drawing out some of those more acute parental feelings for someone who does not have children of her own, so there's that, at least.


	7. Historical

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this chapter doesn't engender fanart, then nothing will, friends. Hold on for the ride!

Crowley wasn’t sure how he’d managed to talk Aziraphale into it, but he wasn’t complaining about it in the slightest, even as he fiddled with his cravat and cursed the conventions of fashion that had once made them necessary attire.

“Should have evolved past this before it was even a thing,” he grumbled.

 _You look very dashing, Father,_ Rosa said demurely from inside the kids’ carrier, waiting by the door of the bookshop.

“Thanks,” Crowley sighed, shooting a grin at the little heads looking out at him from behind the glass. “You lot ready to go?”

 _We can’t wait!_ One of them said, though it was anyone’s guess which one when they were all talking over each other like that. Crowley adjusted his cravat again and straightened his frock coat and really, he was turning into Aziraphale at this point.

Speaking of which—

“Angel!” Crowley called. “You ready?”

“Nearly!” Aziraphale called from the back room of the shop, which Crowley had been banned from once the children had been collected.

“Angel, I know exactly what you looked like in the Regency, you’re not exactly surprising me, here,” Crowley called.

“Agree to disagree,” Aziraphale replied, and he sounded far too smug for Crowley’s immediate liking. “I’ll be out in a moment, dearest, why don’t you get the children loaded and settled?”

“Fair enough,” Crowley grumped, setting his top hat on the carrier and shifting the whole thing into his arms to take out to the waiting Bentley. “You lot just wait, it’s going to be such fun.”

 _Will there be very many people?_ Clem asked as Crowley buckled the carrier into the back seat.

“Luck willing,” Crowley grinned. “Can’t wait to show you lot off.”

 _I’m itchy,_ Junior complained.

“You just have to wear the stuff for a little while once we get there, and then you can take it off. Promise.” Crowley stuck his hand in the carrier to alleviate some of Junior’s itching scales, then popped the carrier back into place and turned on his heel, observing the bookshop and the lack of angel emerging from it. “Wonder what’s taking your angel dad so long.”

 _Maybe you should go check,_ Datura suggested.

“Might do, yeah,” Crowley said, and turned back to the Bentley. “Keep an eye on them, will you? Be out in a tick. And you lot behave.”

After the chorused agreements, Crowley walked up to the bookshop and let himself back in, antsy but unwilling to show it. “Angel! Traffic’s going to be hell if we don’t get a move on—”

“I believe you mean a wiggle on,” Aziraphale said, amused, and stepped into the main body of the shop. Crowley’s breath left him in one brutal punch straight to the heart.

“Might do, yeah,” Crowley said, or thought he might’ve said, it was hard to tell when his entire being was focused on drinking in the sight Aziraphale was presenting. Breeches and waistcoats were Aziraphale’s thing, had been for quite some time, but it had never been Crowley’s pleasure to see Aziraphale experimenting with…other fashions. The empire waistlines of Regency gowns complimented Aziraphale’s figure far more than Crowley would have ever dared hope, and the particular piece Aziraphale was currently wearing was a marvel of pale cream muslin and silk, delicately embroidered and beautifully accented by the pink ribbon under his bust.

“Do you like it?” Aziraphale asked, almost shy as he spread his skirt and modeled it. Crowley’s throat made involuntary noises, especially when Aziraphale did a turn and Crowley realized the angel-wing embroidery on the bow tied in the back.

“Pink,” Crowley managed to say.

“Yes, well. Not my usual, but it’s close enough to red to suit my color palette, I think,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley was torn between the instinct to wrap around his angel as tightly as was allowed, and wanting to keep staring and refrain from creasing the gown. He compensated by swallowing hard and opening and closing his fists at his sides. With a shaky hand he snapped, and the red accents in his own ensemble turned immediately to a deep royal blue.

“There. Same for me,” he said, and held out his elbow. “Come on, then, angel. Let’s show the kids a good time, yeah?”

“You’re coherent much more quickly than I anticipated,” Aziraphale said, a teasing sort of pout on his face, and Crowley whirled Aziraphale around, pinning him to a bookshelf.

“If I had my way,” Crowley said, his voice low, rough, “we wouldn’t be going anywhere at this exact moment.”

“But going somewhere _is_ you having your way,” Aziraphale smirked. Hell below, but Crowley loved him. “The children are in the car already, yes?”

“Yes,” Crowley nodded, and sated himself by planting a long, warm kiss on the exposed slope of Aziraphale’s neck where it met his shoulder. “You look lovely and this is very unfair of you.”

“Pish-posh,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley let himself be pushed back by two fingers against his chest as Aziraphale smoothed his skirts back into place. “Now. Fetch my parasol, darling, it’s by the coat rack, and we’ll go.”

Crowley was just cognizant enough to recognize that the children were cooing over Azirafather’s dress most of the drive to the reenactment village, and managed to get them there and parked without much issue, but he forcibly checked himself back into his current reality and out of his rosy Regency-tinged daydreams when it came time to show Aziraphale his real design in bringing them all out today.

“Crowley, really,” Aziraphale said, but helped load the children into their special secondary carrier for the day. “We shall be thrown out.”

“Shan’t,” Crowley said snidely, and held Aziraphale’s parasol overhead as Aziraphale began to push the pram they’d brought into the village. Passersby leaning in to see the baby that ostensibly such a perambulator would host were either shocked, frightened, or further delighted by the five little serpent heads that craned up out of the blankets, each head hosting a tiny silk baby’s bonnet (though one of them mysteriously managed to disappear five minutes after arriving; Junior saved face by holding the antique silver rattle in his tail instead).

Perhaps it wasn’t the educational experience that Crowley had initially sold Aziraphale on when he’d pitched the idea, but the whole tableau tickled Crowley pink as Aziraphale’s ribbon anyway and he could tell by the proud, devious smile on Aziraphale’s face that his angel felt the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of you have seen icestorming's fun little Regency comic with Aziraphale wearing a dress, that's the image I want in your mind for this one. Icestorming has the distinct honor of having one of the few femme Aziraphales that doesn't change his figure whatsoever and I adore that, as a big-bellied person with a smaller chest myself. He looks lovely in Regency wear, imo.
> 
> (And about that fanart...yes, I might draw it myself, and if I do it will be on my tumblr at quillyfied, but I am not telling and absolutely someone else who knows how to draw straight lines and decent proportions should do it XD)


	8. Snuddling (Snake Cuddling)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m behind, but... (gestures are the state of, well, everything).
> 
> The prompt for 8 September was Snuddling (Snake Cuddling). Oh yeah. We in the Wiggleverse have this covered.

The cottage was quiet on this rainy October day. Aziraphale lay back on the sofa, with Crowley’s coils sprawled over his legs, the serpent’s head resting on the angel's stomach. The fire crackled and the scent of woodsmoke was just right.

It was rare that they got to snuggle during the day. They were generally doing their own thing, or chasing after the children, but today the young ones were otherwise occupied—puzzles, art, reading, building—and Aziraphale had sat down with a cup of tea in the empty living room after stirring up the fire. A few minutes later he’d heard Crowley’s steps, then the creak of the sofa’s arm as heavy coils slithered over it and onto the angel. Aziraphale had laid a lazy hand on Crowley’s back and closed his eyes, appreciating the demon’s weight, the sound of the flames in the hearth, and the calming music of the rain hitting the cottage walls. It was damp, but curling up together before the fireplace was a lovely way to fight the chill.

Aziraphale wasn’t sure how long they’d been lying there together—he’d drifted off in thought—but he became aware of movement along the back of his head. He lifted his head to look and saw Clem flowing along the back of the sofa, then down to tuck himself into Crowley’s side.

“Hullo,” he murmured.

_I’m cold, Azirafather_ , Clem said.

“Cuddle close. You’ll warm up with your father and I here.”

_Thank you_ , mumbled Clem. Aziraphale closed his eyes.

The stairs creaked not long after. Aziraphale opened his eyes to see Angelica climbing onto the other end of the sofa, wiggling under the portion of Crowley’s coils that weren’t looped back and forth on Aziraphale’s legs. She sighed and arranged herself so that her red head rested on the other arm of the sofa, closing her eyes.

What, Aziraphale wondered, was the weight limit of this sofa, then mentally shrugged and reinforced it, just in case. Crowley hadn’t piled himself on it at this size yet, after all.

Datura appeared next, their slender length weaving comfortably into the tangle of Angelica’s hair, followed by Rosa, whose alabaster scales glinted as she slithered over the hills of Crowley’s coils and wound herself up in a neat little knot against the base of Aziraphale’s warm throat. 

A few minutes later the stairs creaked again. Aziraphale cracked open an eye to see Junior hanging over the banister, looking shocked.

“No one told me we were having a cuddle pile,” he said in an outraged stage whisper.

“You’re here now. Come on, dear boy,” Aziraphale said softly. Junior clattered down the rest of the stairs and dropped out of Aziraphale’s line of sight, footsteps vanishing as well. A moment later he was on the sofa, working his way up to the top of the mound that was Crowley. He yawned, then fell backward in an awkward twirl to flop over his father’s girth, belly up, looking somewhat like a skipping rope someone had left on a log.

Aziraphale took in his family, piled on and around him, then looked at the hearth. The flames were settling. That wouldn’t do at all. Aziraphale made a tiny gesture with the hand that wasn’t curled around Crowley, and the logs rearranged themselves to burn more brightly and with more heat.

With a small, satisfied smile, he curled that arm around Crowley too, tucking his chin down to warm Rosa up more. His eyes closed, and he exhaled slowly, content.

  
  



	9. Very Big and Very Small

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was gonna be a lot sadder. Then I had a bad day and decided No, No Thank You.
> 
> Thank you all so much for the comments, they really keep us both going in these trying times.

The cottage was quiet. All was still. And in the downstairs, Clem was sprawling.

It wasn’t often Clem got to sprawl. Whether by self-actualization or honest genetics, Clem’s true size was a monstrous thing to behold, and truth be told Clem preferred it. He didn’t mind making himself smaller for convenience’s sake; even he didn’t appreciate having to miracle furniture back together thanks to an errant stretch of the coils. But every so often, when Father and Azirafather were content to spend time together in their room and his siblings were away, Clem sprawled. He was unsure of his full size, if he would just keep growing until he encircled the Earth, if he would stop one day. Problems for another time. Right now, Clem was fairly certain he was somewhere in the ballpark of fifty to sixty feet long and as thick around as Father’s waist, maybe even Azirafather’s in places. It felt good to be large, to be unmissable. To be seen.

Well, not _seen_ , there were the neighbors to think of, but impossible to overlook, should it be required. There was a bit of him in every room downstairs and quite a bit blocking the stairs, just to be contrarian.

Clem, in his sprawl, was also settling in for a very lovely nap when he felt movement approaching the front door. He shifted, moved part of himself out of the way, and felt he had done wisely as the door was blasted inward, certainly much harder than usual. Datura stood in the doorway, their chest heaving, and, as Clem moved his head from the living room to peer towards his sibling, their face blotchy with tears.

 _Oh,_ Clem said, _I’m sorry, I’ll—I’ll be out of your way in a moment, I—_

“No,” Datura croaked, and shifted, their small, slim build skimming over his massive one and making excellent time. Clem put his head back down as Datura reached his skull and curled up on him, tighter and tighter, until they were a very small black mound on the top of Clem’s head, practically invisible against his scales.

 _Bad day?_ Clem guessed.

 _Mhm,_ Datura mumbled. _Just. Wanna hide for a bit._

 _Okay._ Clem reasserted himself in front of the front door and stretched a bit until he blocked off their parents’ door, as well; some warning for Datura to pull themself together would likely be appreciated. If Datura wanted to talk about what had happened, Clem would be more than willing to listen. If all Datura needed was a big familiar place to hide in plain sight, Clem could also provide that. There were some advantages to being so similar in this form, after all.

Clem’s very pleasant sprawl-induced nap called again, and he only gave token protest until he was certain Datura was sleeping themself. There. That would more than do for a perfect afternoon.


	10. Seasonal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, warnings for GOUSes ahead (Gourds of Unusual Size).

“Are you sure, Clem?” Crowley asked for the umpteenth time as he re-wound Clem’s scarf around his surprisingly human-presenting neck for about the fourth.

“Yes, Father,” Clem said, sounding no less patient than he had the first time Crowley had asked. “If you’re sure you don’t mind, then I don’t mind, either.”

“Course I don’t,” Crowley said gruffly, and smoothed Clem’s floppy hand-knitted hat down over his ears. “Right, then. Angel! The others ready?”

“As we’ll ever be,” Aziraphale replied wryly, and Crowley had a feeling that if he turned around at least one of the children would be wearing something inappropriate for the season. So long as it wasn’t shorts or sandals, they could handle it. It wasn’t like it was bitter cold out, either, but. Well. Crowley would rather be overprepared than underprepared.

“To the Bentley, then,” Crowley announced, and got behind Clem’s chair to maneuver him out to the vehicle as the rest of the kids cheered and thundered out the front door. Aziraphale held the door as Crowley got Clem over the door jamb, then set about settling children and buckling seat belts inside the Bentley’s magically larger interior as Crowley did the same for Clem.

“I’m gonna find the biggest one there!” Junior declared, and Crowley immediately saw that Junior was wearing a t-shirt rather than a sweater or something else warm, but given how often Junior tended to run everywhere he went and exert himself more than any of the others, Crowley resolved not to worry about it unless Junior complained.

“I want a white one,” Rosa declared.

“I’m gonna find a funny lumpy one,” Datura said.

“I just want pie,” Angelica sighed.

“The seeds are good toasted, too,” Clem nodded.

Crowley, glancing askance at Aziraphale as he settled into the driver’s seat, said nothing, but clocked the smug little smile on his angel’s face and rolled his eyes.

“Don’t gloat, it’s beneath you,” he muttered.

“I haven’t the faintest what you mean,” Aziraphale murmured back. “Though, as I recall, I did tell you—”

“Ah! Nope!” Crowley started the car and harrumphed and generally put on the airs of one who was more miffed they’d lost an argument than they really were. When Aziraphale had suggested the pumpkin patch as an outing, Crowley had disagreed on principle, but, as Aziraphale had said, it had been several hundred years since the belief that jack-o’-lanterns warded off evil spirits had been prevalent, and just as long since one particularly devout old lady with better eyesight than her age suggested had successfully lobbed one at him, so really, Crowley was just being obstinate now. Which. Fair. But, come on. Demon and all.

“They used to be made out of turnips, anyhow, pumpkins are just the new fashion,” Aziraphale had said.

“Nguh,” Crowley had replied.

“Think of how excited the children will be to pick out their very own pumpkins,” Aziraphale had hinted.

“Mrff,” Crowley had groaned. And that had been that.

It was Crowley’s one consolation that Aziraphale hadn’t suggested apple picking; no inferior apples were going to be introduced into his house, not if he had any say at all.

The drive to the pumpkin patch was pleasant and it was a crisp, bright autumn day. The ground was still squashy from rain the night before, but it was nothing the children’s boots couldn’t handle. Once given the go-ahead, four out of five snake children exploded from the back of the Bentley, and one waited with a fraction less patience than usual for his chair to be unfolded and made ready so he could join the rest, the ground knowing better than to suck at the wheels and mire the precious cargo within. Aziraphale took over pushing Clem along and gave Crowley a look of such perfect happiness that Crowley’s residual misgivings melted entirely. He put his hand on the small of Aziraphale’s back as they walked and occasionally barked at Junior to not jump off of tall rocks or garden walls.

“This one!” Datura cried, holding up a gourd that was certainly not a pumpkin, though Crowley couldn’t have said what kind of produce it was, what with all the knobs and the green stripes.

“Father! Azirafather!” Junior skidded up to where Clem and their parents were standing, and Crowley had to resist the urge to comb the leaf particles out of Junior’s hair. “Come see, come see!”

“Alright, we’re coming,” Aziraphale said, and glanced at Crowley with a grin. “Goodness. They’re certainly taking more to it than I thought they would.”

“New place, lots of space to run? I’m surprised we can even still see all of them,” Crowley replied, and just to double-check looked over the field and counted. Yep. Three out there, one with them, and one more bouncing impatiently beside the shop front of the pumpkin patch, which housed an old human in a rocking chair chuckling to himself.

“Come see, it’s huge! I want it!” Junior cried, and darted behind the shop.

“It’s a pumpkin, how big could it be?” Crowley asked, and once they rounded the corner, stopped dead. “Oh.”

“Oh, my,” Aziraphale said.

“Is that real?” Clem asked.

Junior was currently posing in front of a pumpkin taller and wider than he was, the biggest Crowley had certainly ever seen, and it looked plenty real to him.

“I want it!” Junior repeated, waving his arms as if to emphasize the strength of his need for this particular mega-gourd.

“It’s…certainly impressive, my boy,” Aziraphale said bravely.

“It’ll never fit in the Bentley,” Crowley said. “Would crush the poor girl just trying.”

“We can put it on a wagon and drag it behind!” Junior said. “Or a skateboard!”

“Look, see,” Crowley pointed at a sign he hadn’t noticed in his momentary awe, “it’s not even for sale, Junior, it’s the farmer’s entry for the Biggest Pumpkin competition.”

“Oh,” Junior said, and looked deflated. “Well. After the competition, do you think he’d let us have it?”

“Darling, what would you even do with a pumpkin that size?” Aziraphale asked.

“Make a house out of it,” Junior said. Crowley tried coughing to cover up his snort of laughter but judging by the smirk on Junior’s face, he hadn’t succeeded.

“Think of it this way,” Aziraphale said, coming around Clem’s wheelchair and kneeling in front of Junior. “This is an enormous pumpkin, right? Would probably feed a lot of people?”

“Like us!” Junior nodded.

“Like people who need it more than we do, my dear one,” Aziraphale said gently. “Like the farmer’s whole family and maybe even his livestock. Or the farmer’s neighbors. It wouldn’t be fair of us to ask the farmer to part with something he’s obviously proud of and could use to help his whole family, would it? Just to feed our family, some of whom don’t even need to eat every day?”

Junior’s face screwed up, and Crowley was bracing himself for a tantrum before Junior deflated again and nodded.

“Okay,” he said, defeated.

“You can still find a lovely large pumpkin out in the regular patch, Anthony, it’s alright,” Aziraphale said gently, rubbing a hand up and down Junior’s arm. “Goodness, you’re chilled, do you need your jacket now?”

“No,” Junior pouted, then the breeze picked up for a moment and Junior shivered. “Maybe.”

Aziraphale snapped, and a warm flannel shirt appeared over Junior’s arms, unbuttoned but at the ready should Junior require it. Junior hugged Aziraphale, then darted back around the shop to the patch again. Aziraphale shot Crowley a look of relief and Crowley huffed and shook his head.

“I want a large one, too,” Clem announced as Aziraphale returned to push Clem’s chair back out to the patch.

“What for?” Crowley asked.

“To play in,” Clem said, and craned his head to look at Crowley with a look of such calculated sweetness it put Crowley on edge immediately. “Wouldn’t that be fun, Father?”

“Awfully sticky place to play,” Crowley said.

“Then we’d just have to take baths after,” Clem said. Crowley groaned.

“Fine, we’ll find a big one for you, too,” Crowley said, and glared at Aziraphale, who merely smiled and batted his lashes. This entire outing was a conspiracy, Crowley was just certain of it.

Though, driving home five sleeping children after the excitement of the pumpkin hunt, the hay ride, and the corn maze had its own reward, Crowley thought, even as he drove one-handed with his other arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders and his cheek resting on Aziraphale’s hair.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Aziraphale murmured. “Not a single thrown vegetable anywhere in sight.”

“You’re gloating again,” Crowley mumbled, and squeezed Aziraphale’s shoulders as Aziraphale kissed his throat.

The next morning, the real fun began.

 _Ooh, it_ is _sticky,_ Clem observed as he nosed at the pile of guts Crowley was scooping out of Clem’s pumpkin.

“Don’t go messing around in it yet, I haven’t finished cleaning this out,” Crowley grumped without much heat.

 _Can you fit all of our pumpkins together in a big pumpkin castle?_ Junior asked as Aziraphale did the same for Angelica’s pumpkin.

“Shouldn’t be too hard, if everyone else wants to contribute their pumpkins,” Aziraphale said, and smiled at Crowley at the chorus of tiny affirmatives that answered.

Four pumpkins, one unusual gourd, some creative knifework from Aziraphale, and a few subtle miracles later, there was a bulbous orange, green, and white structure sitting on the kitchen table, surrounded by piles of pumpkin innards and infested with gleeful snakes who would most certainly all need baths by the end of today’s adventure. Crowley couldn’t find it within himself to much mind. At least they hadn’t made jack-o’-lanterns after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm torn on whether or not I think Crowley likes Halloween since it's one of those that was based on a holy day dedicated to honoring the dead and also telling bad spirits to Shoo that has since been turned into a commercial horror nightmare landscape, but the visual of some old Irishwoman throwing carved produce at Crowley's head was too amusing to ignore. Right along with snabies in pumpkins. 
> 
> It's Fall, Y'all! (Wish the weather in my neck of the woods reflected it!!)


	11. Snekcessorizing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snekcessorizing, or wearing a snek as an accessory. What trouble could the children possibly get up to?
> 
> (Warning for teenage snabies, oh no)

_For the record,_ Clem said as Angelica eased him into her knapsack, _this is a bad idea._

“It’s a great idea,” Angelica whispered back. “Just you wait, it’ll be hilarious.”

 _If they call Animal Control, you are explaining to our parents what happened,_ Clem sniffed, but made himself comfortable inside the insulated, heated interior Angelica had prepared for him. _There’s a reason Rosa wouldn’t help, you know._

“Because she’s a stick in the mud,” Angelica grinned, and lifted Clem’s head to plant a kiss on his snout. “And because you’re the best brother ever.”

 _I am,_ Clem sighed, and submitted to being tucked into the knapsack with quiet dignity, as he suffered most things.

Datura had taken over driving the lot of them to school, and played earsplitting punk music they usually moderated when they knew Clem was inside the vehicle. Since the entire point was to be unnoticed, Clem weathered the volume and the bass with as much grace as he could and only minimal writhing. Angelica owed him so much for this.

Angelica’s entire plan was to carry Clem around in her bag and to take him out when it was her turn for class pictures. Clem was no stranger to being used as ammo against Angelica’s classmates (a particularly memorable Show and Tell in primary school came to mind), though truthfully Clem wasn’t sure how he’d managed to cave in to this one. Curse Angelica and her knowing usage of tiramisu against him.

“Alright,” Angelica murmured into the bag quite some time later, “show time.”

Clem wound grumpily around his sister’s body and intentionally mouthed at her curls as she adjusted him, and she booped his snoot a little harder than normal in retaliation. When she’d found the time to change into a sequined leotard far too close to her skin tone for comfort, Clem would never know. He curled the end of his tail around her ankle and set his head on her shoulder.

 _I’m expecting a chicken_ and _a cake for emotional damages,_ Clem grumped, purposely tickling her ear with his tongue. Unfortunately, Angelica was also siblings with Junior and too used to handling such needlings.

“Sure,” Angelica murmured back, and walked into the room where pictures were happening with a wide, toothy smile.

In the end, Animal Control was only averted by Angelica’s hot insistence that Clem was “a member of her family,” and the picture only went forward with a subtle miracle on Clem’s part as Angelica argued her case.

 _Two cakes_ , Clem grumbled when he was bundled back into the bag. _For services rendered above and beyond duty._

“Keep mum about it until yearbooks are released and it’ll be three cakes,” Angelica promised, which Clem supposed wasn’t so bad a price to pay, all told.

(Though the look on Angelica’s face when she came home that day and was confronted by an irate Azirafather and a barely-holding-it-together giggly Father was worth at least one of those cakes in and of itself, Clem supposed. Azirafather needed it more anyway, judging by the look on his face when it was revealed that the school had called him to inform him that his daughter was prancing around with a bloody great snake wrapped around her seemingly naked body.)

(Clem did not escape scrutiny, of course, but that’s also what the chicken was there for: to help him process his emotional grief at being in trouble for the first time in his entire life. He was Clem; he did nothing wrong, after all.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clem: I have done nothing wrong ever in my life  
> The Entire Wiggleverse: we know this and we love you
> 
> (Sneaky bastard Clem is best Clem)
> 
> (Also apologies for being so painfully American again, I didn't really bother looking too closely into whether or not British secondary schools have picture day and yearbooks, but the idea of Angelica using one of her siblings to channel her inner Britney Spears to cause as much disruption as possible was too good a visual to pass up on)


	12. AU: Ancient Snabies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if...five magical snake children hatched before Armageddon? Much, much earlier than Armageddon, in fact?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a weird one, folks.
> 
> I originally got this idea for the Historical prompt way back at the beginning of the month, but after sharing with Olwen and talking it over we decided it fit better in the AU category, so here it is. The feel for this one is not only Ancient Immortal Snabies (or at least Rosa), but also something following our own understanding of the starting of the universe rather than the Good Omens version.
> 
> Just as a warning, this has the reappearance of Mal, who in the New Arrangement is a nonbinary bartender who flirts with Rosa and gives her a very good and fun and respectful first time; they are still good and fun and respectful, and there is still an implication of this occurring post-sexytimes. I just really like Mal, okay.

“You know, you’ve never told me about your parents,” Mal said.

Rosa, in the middle of pulling her stocking over her thigh, paused. Mal, content to be fully naked for the time being, beamed at her like they’d won something. Rosa’s eyes searched their face for a moment, and then she rolled down her stocking and set it aside.

“Go on, I took the bit about the wings well enough,” Mal said, plucking a gold-tipped feather from the comforter and running it under their chin, still smiling that cheeky grin they knew drove Rosa up the wall, one way or the other. Rosa rolled her eyes (or, rather, her head, since her eyes were a bit serpentine at the moment) and sighed.

“You’re incorrigible,” she said quietly. “It’s…well. I shouldn’t.”

“Shouldn’t?” Mal raised their eyebrows. “Or…?”

“Shouldn’t,” Rosa confirmed, sitting on the bed in the crook of Mal’s legs. “It. It isn’t entirely my story to tell, I’m afraid.”

“Just the broad strokes, then,” Mal shrugged. “Don’t have to give me all the gory details, just…something other than a blank. I’m imagining a cosmic chicken and a great bloody snake getting it on, currently.”

Rosa laughed, shaking her head, her white curls bouncing, and Mal failed to resist the urge to snare a few around their fingers, tugging gently. “Go on, Rosa,” they murmured. “Just a little bit of info. Just so I know what I’m getting into.”

“Right,” Rosa sighed, and leaned forward, letting her wings shake out from wherever she kept them and stretching them out with a little sigh. “Right. Where to begin.”

“The beginning, ostensibly,” Mal said. Rosa snorted.

“Very well,” she said, and turned, her eyes growing oddly intense. Mal felt, for the first time, a twinge of unease.

“In the beginning,” Rosa said, her voice growing deeper, richer, in that way it always did when she was talking about something Over Mal’s Head and Extremely Magical And/Or Dangerous. “There was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. Then God said, let there be light, and it was so.”

“I didn’t mean that literally, you know,” Mal said. Rosa twitched her wings and Mal shut up.

“And so on and so forth went Creation, fast forwarding a few million years,” Rosa said, “until humanity began crawling from the ooze and the Plan could truly begin. There had been a war, you see, a great war in Heaven, where the Devil and a third of the Host of angels were cast out into Hell and became demons. They agreed it was only fair they each send a representative to monitor the humanity situation, and so they sent one each to be the eyes and ears on the ground for Heaven and Hell, respectively.

“The angel was a fighter, a protector,” Rosa said, and Mal knew they weren’t imagining the fondness that began to enter Rosa’s voice. “Forged of holy water and silver, the angel was given a sword of Heavenly light to defend itself with and to smite Evil, should it encounter anything of the sort. Newly made, eager to please, eager to learn.

“The demon,” Rosa said, and paused, and Mal watched the growing smile on Rosa’s face with a thrill of excitement that felt more like the plunge over a roller coaster than before a great party, “oh, the demon was all chaos and wonder, remade in hellish flame and gold. It was told, in no uncertain terms, to get up there and cause some trouble for budding humanity. Throw a wrench in the Plan. Disrupt, mislead, and conquer.” Rosa snorted. “They really should have had a better vetting process. The demon they sent was full of curiosity, too fresh from its Fall, too inexperienced.

“And so there they were, an angel in the guise of a guardian, a demon in the skin of a snake, sent to watch over humanity and nudge and influence them towards either Good or Evil. The stage was set. Existence as we know it was ready to begin.”

“Did they fight a lot?” Mal asked. “Angel and demon, set on Earth to do the same job?”

“You would think,” Rosa nodded, “and certainly that’s what was expected of them. But no. No, they committed a far worse crime, I’m afraid, one neither Heaven nor Hell could excuse.”

Mal raised their eyebrows during Rosa’s dramatic pause, and Rosa smiled.

“They fell in love,” Rosa said. “First with humanity, with their innovation and determination. Then with each other, their sworn enemies.”

“The original cliché,” Mal said, and Rosa snorted.

“As you can imagine, they had to keep it a secret from their respective sides, or risk them both being destroyed,” Rosa said. “But it was a love for the ages, played out quietly in the background of history. It was still early, when they encountered a longer separation than either was used to. The demon, knowing its angel’s love of fine cuisine, conjured up a delicacy from the ether, from pure love and desire to see the angel happy, and sent the delicacy to the angel with a short love note. The delicacy…” Rosa smiled wistfully. “The delicacy was snake eggs. Five little snake eggs, nestled in coals and a dish of purest gold and rubies. Fit for a king, and every detail of the presentation designed to remind the angel of who had sent the gift.”

“Snake eggs,” Mal repeated. “Where on earth—”

“You asked for broad strokes, not details,” Rosa retorted. Mal nodded and gestured for Rosa to continue.

“The angel was delighted, of course,” Rosa said, “and it had every intention of savoring the treat. Perhaps it would eat one snake egg every time it missed its beloved. Or perhaps it would eat them all at once in a fit of passion. But the longer the angel considered the eggs, the more the angel missed its demon, and the more the angel began to think of ways that things might be different for them. Foolish daydreams became desperate longing. The angel pined. It yearned.”

“And…the eggs went bad?” Mal guessed.

“If the angel had expected them to go bad, I’m sure they would have,” Rosa said softly. “No, no, the angel instead began to imagine what would happen if, perhaps, it and its demon were allowed to be together as they wished. If they were allowed to love openly, without fear, without secrets. If, even, it and the demon might be allowed to be a family one day, as humans do. And then, three days later, the snake eggs hatched.”

“Hatched,” Mal said. “Weren’t they cooked?”

“Weren’t they?” Rosa asked, staring at them unblinking. “It would have made a lot of things easier, if they were. If the angel had just eaten its gift and continued on about its merry way. But it didn’t. It loved and it wished and it longed so hard, it turned five cooked snake eggs made from a demon’s adoration into five tiny winged snakes, born of an impossible love and brought into a world despite all odds, all rules, all laws of nature and eternity.”

“Did…did the demon find out?” Mal asked.

“Of course,” Rosa nodded. “The angel could never keep anything from its demon, not unless it truly had cause. And the demon couldn’t even if it did. Very few secrets between them, you see. And little self-control, where the other was concerned. The demon, though it was supposed to be on a mission half a world away, came to see its angel soon after delivering its gift, and was there just hours after the hatching of the children.”

“What happened next?” Mal asked.

“They quarreled, then fought, about what to do,” Rosa said. “Whether they should take the children and run, or whether they should hide them on Earth somewhere. Curiously, neither seemed to have the thought to squash the children, for starters, or to separate them. No, it seemed, from the moment the angel and the demon laid eyes on us, they seemed incapable of ever separating themselves from each other or from us, ever again.”

“Us,” Mal said, and Rosa quirked an eyebrow, stretching her wings and staring harder than usual.

“Us,” Rosa repeated. “Five of us. Five angel-demon hybrid snake children, existing in the middle of Egypt without any place to go or any way to hide or be hidden. The demon insisted the best plan would be to flee to the stars, to raise the children out in the black and void and only popping back onto Earth to finish assignments. The angel refused, said it was ludicrous to expect children to grow up in that environment and the best plan would be to make a safe place on Earth, where we could grow up among humans and perhaps learn to blend in.”

“I’m guessing I know which plan worked out,” Mal said, and Rosa quirked a grin.

“Egypt was a wonder,” Rosa said softly. “Hot. Sunny. Didn’t ask many questions. It was a hotbed of activity back then, the whole Middle East. Heaven and Hell didn’t think twice about their agents being in the same place for over three hundred years. And we…we learned. We grew. We knew three simple truths: that our parents loved us, that we were special, and that if we were ever caught, that we would be executed without a single thought, right before our parents’ eyes. It was…perhaps not the best way to grow up, but we were young, we were careless, and allowed to be so because our parents were careful.”

“What happened later on? Did Heaven and Hell find out? Did your parents have to go out on other assignments?” Mal tilted their head. “Did you have babysitters?”

“There are thousands of years to my history, Mal,” Rosa said, and for the first time Mal appreciated just how ancient Rosa sounded. “Thousands of stories. But you asked about my parents. That’s their story.”

“Are they…y’know…still around?” Mal asked.

“Of course they are,” Rosa nodded. “They have jobs to do, after all.”

“Still?”

“Yes,” Rosa nodded. “And for another…oh, year and a half, I’d say…that’s still the case.”

“Year and a half?” Mal frowned, then it clicked. “Oh. You mean Armageddon?”

Rosa nodded, then stood, tucking her wings away. “And that’s where I’m needed now,” she said, and began tugging on her stocking again. “I’ll call you tonight?”

“Right,” Mal said, and sat in a daze until well after Rosa had left them with a goodbye kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is what I wrote out to Olwen about the snabies in thinking about how they would be different if they existed back in, like, 2000 BC:
> 
> Clem, calm and warm and confident, one of those scary-insightful counselors who looks into your soul and smiles like he likes what he sees and finds it worthy, who says you can see the same eyes in different people and tells stories about people he knew “back in the day” only it sounds like people 20 years ago, 50 years ago, 300 years ago.
> 
> Datura, who can MacGyver anything, who sees mechanisms and can pick them apart at a glance, who knows some old trick from Mesopotamia that can help keep your chickens from running away that also works on babies and also the exact formula of Greek fire but will only tell when you get them good and drunk, who loves cars like they’re their children but will swear up and down that an iPhone is evil
> 
> Junior, who looks oldest, who is timeless when he laughs but old when he cries, who has a permanent tan line of a wedding ring on his finger but doesn’t wear one anymore, who has leathery hands from working with plants and paint always smudged under his nails, who will still glue a coin to a sidewalk just to see what happens and then sketch the results.
> 
> Angelica, a walking whirlwind, who is vicious and precise, like War made flesh, flame dancing on a razor’s edge and so ferociously protective it is devastating when she is soft, whose gentle touch shakes mountains and whose slap flattens them, who has made herself hard to survive but could never stamp out that gooey center of hers that will always make her more human than she ever truly feels.
> 
> Rosa, learned and quick, with an eternity of law and rules stuffed in her head, whose sight is so far-reaching she becomes myopic about the close details, who longs for connection but fears it just as strongly, who has learned to be relentless and unstoppable because if she isn’t no one else survives.
> 
> (And, alternatively for Clem, he is The Inspiration For Dragons and A Huge Snake Okay, just Enormous, and he will absolutely grant wishes if you are nice to him and bring him treats.)
> 
> (I don't know if this particular version of the snabies will ever go anywhere but have this glimpse into what it could be like, anyway.)


	13. Shedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING for some body horror, especially eye-related body horror, in this one; it isn't bad or graphic, but it is Weird and has to do with snake shed in a form not necessarily meant to do it, so take care of yourselves.

Datura was in a bad mood.

This was alarming for two reasons: reason the first, Datura was _never_ in a bad mood. Even more than Clem, who was prone to fits of anxiety, Datura was the most easygoing of their siblings, always on an even keel, steady and logical and friendly. Reason the second, Datura was apparently in such ill humor that they were actively snapping at people who committed such crimes as breathing too loudly and dropping plastic cups on tile floors.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Datura hissed at such an occasion, and Aziraphale, the offending party, stared at his progeny with raised eyebrows. Datura was wearing their sunglasses indoors and was covered in a jumper and sweatpants despite the heat of the day, and rather than snap back, as was his first instinct, Aziraphale calmly put the cup on the counter and walked towards Datura at a sedate pace.

“Come with me, please,” he said, not stern, but brooking no argument, either. Datura sighed and grudgingly stood from their chair, where they had been brooding all day, and followed Aziraphale upstairs to their own room. Aziraphale closed the door behind them, navigated the floor littered with bits and bobs and clothing, and cleared a space on their bed for him to sit. He indicated that Datura should join him, and waited for Datura to huffily sit at the foot of their bed, curled up and folding their arms and generally indicating displeasure.

“What’s wrong, my dear one?” Aziraphale asked gently. Apparently this was all the plying it took; Datura’s lip immediately wobbled and they sniffled.

“Promise you won’t laugh?” Datura said.

“I would never,” Aziraphale assured them. Datura sucked in a deep breath, then started by taking off their jumper. Aziraphale tried to control his wincing but it was difficult; Datura’s skin was peppered with scales, and those scales—and quite a bit of the surrounding skin—looked dry, flaky, and peeling. Datura slid out of their sweatpants next, and it was more of the same, all down their freckled legs.

“The—the eyes are the worst bit,” Datura sniffed, and put a hand on their sunglasses. “They—they look really bad, Azirafather.”

“Let’s see it, then,” Aziraphale said, and couldn’t help the small gasp when they lifted away their sunglasses and revealed not just that their eyes were covered in the soft blue eye caps Aziraphale was now familiar with during the children’s sheds, but that the eye caps looked stretched and warped, like deflated balloons.

“I cried when I realized what was happening,” Datura whispered, mortified. “And. They got stuck. Under the caps. So I…I had to peel them up a bit, to let the tears out.” A few more tears seeped from the ruined eye caps. “I started shedding and thought changing over would make it stop but it didn’t.”

“Datura,” Aziraphale breathed. “May I touch you?”

In answer, Datura crawled into Aziraphale’s lap, scratching absently at their shoulder, where a large patch of skin was coming up.

“Have you tried changing back until the shed passes?” Aziraphale asked, a mere thought making his palms rough as he soothed them over Datura’s peeling skin.

“Can’t concentrate,” Datura mumbled.

“Shall we get Father, see if he can help?” Aziraphale murmured. He had no knowledge of Crowley ever shedding, nor shedding in his human form, but that didn’t mean it had never happened before; they hadn’t spent every waking moment of the last six thousand or so years together, after all.

Datura nodded, and Aziraphale scooped them up in his arms and carried them to the garden, Datura’s face tucked into his chest to avoid showcasing their ruined eye caps.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale called, and Crowley looked up from berating his tomatoes. He instantly dropped his trowel and ran over so quickly he might’ve flown.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“In the greenhouse, I think,” Aziraphale said. “They’re alright, but we need…some expertise, I think.”

“Right, ‘course,” Crowley said, and led the way. Aziraphale wasn’t sure where the rest of the children were, but hoped they would stay out of trouble long enough to get Datura sorted, anyway. Datura trembled in his arms as Crowley closed the door, then approached, running his fingers through their hair. “What’s wrong, spawn?”

Datura turned their face, and Crowley whistled.

“Quite the conundrum, that,” he said. “Let me guess, can’t change back?”

Datura shook their head.

“It itches,” they whispered. “Too itchy to concentrate.”

“And you’ve been getting around with mostly your ears and your sense of smell, eh,” Crowley sighed. “Not as good in this form?”

Datura shook their head.

“Make it stop,” Datura mouthed, more tears leaking from under their eye caps. “Please, Father, make it stop.”

Aziraphale looked to Crowley, who, judging by the look on his face, was dealing with as sore and cracked a heart as Aziraphale himself was. Crowley pet Datura’s hair and kissed their scaly forehead.

“We can try to force you down into a snake,” Crowley said gently, “or we can try and get you through it in this form. Either way, the shed’s going to have to run its course, I don’t fancy trying to miracle it away when it’s tied to how you grow, spawn. Could make you stay this size forever if we do it wrong.”

“I’m not confident that we could shift Datura for them, either,” Aziraphale sighed. “We could try, but I…I’m not as experienced, I’m afraid I—Datura, dearest, we can put you in a bath and treat it like a normal shed, but I…I don’t want to…I’d hate to do something wrong and hurt you.”

Crowley’s hand reached out and stilled Aziraphale’s frantically twisting fingers, which he hadn’t even noticed.

“You can use Azirafather and I’s tub,” Crowley said, his other hand still soothing through Datura’s hair. “If you ask nicely I bet Azirafather would even let you use his bubbles and have some of his bonbons.”

Datura’s pitiful teary face looked in Aziraphale’s direction, their lip trembling and eye caps still catching more tears than they ought, and Aziraphale’s cracking heart broke right into pieces.

“Anything you want, darling,” Aziraphale said. “We’ll keep the bathroom nice and humid and put out plenty of scratchy things for you, if you’d like.”

“Would you read to me?” Datura sniffled.

“Anything,” Aziraphale nodded, and kissed the top of Datura’s head.

Later, with Datura sitting in Aziraphale’s enormous tub with bubbles and a pumice scrubber and a miraculously humidity-resistant television set attuned to all of Datura’s favorite shows and music, Aziraphale and Crowley sat on their bed with clasped, shaking hands.

“Well,” Crowley said, “add that to the list of things we ought to tell the others not to do, then. No shifting during a shed, not unless they’re prepared for a seriously weird time.”

“Do you suppose they’ll shed even without shifting?” Aziraphale asked quietly. “I would hate for it to come on while they’re at school, in the girls’ case. It…it hasn’t happened yet, of course, but that doesn’t mean…”

“We’ll handle it if it does,” Crowley shrugged. “We’re handling this one well enough. It just looks bad, Aziraphale, but for them it’s probably normal. Not something to get worked up over.”

“Well, you know me,” Aziraphale said, smiling a watery smile. “Getting worked up over nothing is my specialty.”

“Nah.” Crowley kissed his temple. “You’re just a concerned parent. In the job description, really.”

“Azirafather?” Datura called, and Aziraphale sighed, rousing himself.

“Right. I did promise to read, didn’t I,” Aziraphale said, and stood. “Thank you, darling.”

“What for?” Crowley frowned. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You did,” Aziraphale smiled, and planted a kiss on the back of Crowley’s hand. “You always do. Just by being you.”

“Ghk,” Crowley said, and swatted Aziraphale away. “G’on, your sprog wants read to.”

“Indeed,” Aziraphale said, and trotted away with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Datura keeps not having a very good time this month, sorry XD If any snaby would be curious if shifting forms would stop the itch of shedding, it would be Datura, tbh. They would also be most unnerved by being unable to switch back, I imagine.


	14. Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still late. It's a difficult month. I knew it would be going in... I just didn't think setting myself a microfic every two days would be this hard to keep up with. Sigh.
> 
> ANYWAY. It's party time. It was supposed be party time on 10 September. Better late than never.

_When is your birthday, Father?_ Junior asked. Crowley blinked then gave a short laugh.

“Don’t have one, spawn,” he said.

_No birthday!_ a few of the children cried, aghast.

“Well,” he said, “I was around before time officially started. Didn’t have months or days then, yet.”

“There are the birthdays we use for human documents,” Aziraphale said. Crowley scoffed.

“I use different ones every time. Look suspicious if I had the same birthday my father Crowley Senior did, and my granddad, wouldn’t it.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. “That hadn’t really occurred to me.”

_You need a birthday!_ Junior insisted. _Otherwise how will you know when to have a party?_

“Not a big party person,” Crowley said.

_But cake!_ the children said over one another.

“Can have cake any time I like, can’t I,” Crowley said. “Angel dad doesn’t need a reason, does he?”

_But a birthday party is for you,_ Datura said sadly. 

_A day just for you,_ Angelica agreed. _When people tell you that they’re glad you’re you._

_And give you presents,_ Rosa added.

Crowley looked around at the children, all looking so earnestly at him.

_It’s important,_ Clem said.

Crowley shook his head.

“I don’t need a birthday, spawn.”

Crowley closed the bookshop door, shaking out the umbrella before slipping it into Aziraphale’s stand.

“Raining like anything out there,” he said, turning around. “Like unto the Ark, one might say if—”

_SURSPISE!_ the children shouted. He blinked.

_Happy birthday, Father!_ Junior burst out. He was wearing a paper cone taped to his small head.

“Er,” said Crowley.

_Present!_ said Angelica, tugging a piece of paper toward him with her mouth. Crowley picked it up.

It was a family portrait; that was immediately evident. Five squiggles in blacks, reds, and silver crossed the paper in different directions. In the middle was a thick black spiral, a crude attempt at sunglasses above it. Next to it was a silver stick figure with a halo.

Crowley felt something closing up his throat. It took him a couple of rounds of throat-clearing before he could say, “Good job, you lot. Looks just like us. Thank you. It’s the best present I’ve ever been given.”

The children cheered, then urged Aziraphale to join them. He came carrying a plate, upon which was a cupcake with an impressive swirl of icing on top. He set it on the table.

“What’s this?” said Crowley.

_Cake!!!_ the children cried enthusiastically.

_No mouse-flavoured cake,_ said Clem. _So asked for next best thing._

“What’s that, spawn?”

_Angel food cake,_ Datura said seriously. _Because you love Azirafather most in the world, other than us._

“Well,” said Crowley. He met Aziraphale’s warm eyes, and felt a ridiculous flush come over his face. “Not wrong.”

Aziraphale looked at him affectionately, and produced napkins and a knife.

“Birthday boy cuts the cake,” he said. “Make a wish as you make the first cut.”

Crowley took the knife, positioned the blade over the frosting swirl, and paused before slicing into it confidently. The children cheered again. Crowley cut miniature wedges from the cupcake and put each on a napkin, handing them round. The children ate them happily, congratulating one another on their excellent surprise.

“What did you wish for, my dear?” said Aziraphale as Crowley presented him with a tiny piece of cake.

“It doesn’t matter,” Crowley replied. “I have everything I need right here.” He gently dabbed a bit of icing on the end of Aziraphale’s nose, then kissed it off.

  
  



	15. Mating Rituals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when you are a half-angel half-demon shapeshifting snake child born from angelic belief and combination angelic and demonic love, and the question of Where Do Babies Come From arises?
> 
> This is set very, very early on in the bookshop. And all hail Emily of Snake Discovery, everyone's favourite YouTuber!

_ When angel and demon love other very much, _ he overheard a child say. The phrasing made Aziraphale freeze in place.

_ But not all sneks come from angels and demons, _ another reasoned.

_ Maybe they do? _

_ No. _ The child was certain.  _ Father and Azirafather only ones. Don’t make all sneks in world. _

_ Then where come sneks? _

There was a moment or two of what he assumed was deep thought.

_ Emily shows eggs. Sneks from... eggs. _

_ No, _ someone contradicted.  _ Baby sneks borned as babies. Emily show. _

_ Some sneks babies, _ someone said knowledgeably.  _ Some sneks eggs. _

_ Eggs! We eggs! Father say so! _

_ How eggs grow? How eggs be… eggs? _

_ Angel and demon, _ insisted the first child again.

There was a general sigh.

_ … bread? _

_ Bread? _

_ Azirafather roll squishy bread. Oven make it firm and warm. _

They mulled this over.

_ Roll… sneks? _

_ Oven make live? _

_ No, _ someone said condescendingly.  _ Azirafather and Father make live. _

_ Roll eggs! _

_ Eggs like Emily show? _

_ Yes! Put in in… ink… inkyyou… warming place so sneks grow in egg! _

An assortment of general excited sounds.

_ Like oven! Make warm so sneks can grow! _

_ Yes! _

_ Squishy bread, _ someone said confidently.  _ Eggs from squishy bread. Put in warm place. Sneks grow inside, eat way out, get borned. _

Having figured out How Snakes Are Made to their satisfaction, the children moved on to playing a new version of the pompom game-- two dropped a pompom each, which was caught by two others on the ground, who then had to race each other up to the top of the desk again, winner declared by the fifth child serving as adjudicator--while Aziraphale let out the breath he’d been holding around the corner. 

He was fervently glad he’d been the one to over hear this particular conversation. Had Crowley been the one to come upon it, he wouldn’t have been able to form words, frozen by being trapped without a good answer already prepared. Aziraphale resolved to get the better part of a bottle of wine or four into his partner before letting him know that their children were already at the point where they wanted to know where babies came from. Crowley deserved as much advance warning as he could get. Although ping-pong balls weren’t the usual result of snakes mating, which complicated things somewhat. Snakes mating wasn’t something he had experience with at all, actually. Goodness, would the children look for mates when they grew? Would they grow as normal snakes? Would they mate the same way-- _ could _ they?

That drink sounded like something to get to sooner rather than later.

  
  



	16. Snake Crimes, or Snimes,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for some good old-fashioned crime, everybody in the Crime Bus!

The dame was the first to enter the smoky bar. She slipped off her coat at the door and immediately drew eyes in her sequined gown, her white curls soft and elegant down her back. No-Nose Joe wasn’t a trusting sort, it wasn’t how he’d managed to build an empire, but a dame like that was usually worth speaking to, for one reason or another.

“Apple juice, please,” the dame said to the bartender, and No-Nose Joe slid up behind her, indicating to the bartender he’d have his usual.

“What’s a gal like you doing in a place like this?” No-Nose Joe said as the bartender slid the drinks along the bar, right into their hands.

“Looking for company,” the dame said, flashing No-Nose Joe a piercing look. “I’m feeling awful lonesome.”

“It’d be rude for a gentleman such as myself to not oblige a pretty lady,” No-Nose Joe said. “What’s your name, doll?”

“Call me Rose,” she said, and smiled.

No-Nose Joe was no idiot but he was a fool; he didn’t even see the two redheads in suits come in, or see them when they slipped into his back rooms.

He noticed nothing, in fact, until alarms started blaring.

“What the—hey!” No-Nose Joe yelped, trying to run for his gun and realizing he was handcuffed to the bar. Rose flashed him a dangerous smile and patted his cheek.

“That’s my cue, I’m afraid,” Rose said, and dashed behind the dirty rotten robbers, the two redheads in suits—a man with a briefcase and a bow tie, and a woman with an open shirt, a cigar between her teeth, and a tommy gun she was using to threaten people.

“Stop them!” No-Nose Joe cried.

“I’ll call the cops!” the bartender volunteered.

“No, don’t call the cops, we’re criminals, ya idjit!” No-Nose Joe shrieked.

“Next time you steal from orphanages, better think again, No-Nose Joe!” the ginger man with the briefcase called, flashing a wicked smile. “Angie, light ‘em up!”

“You got it, Tony,” the redheaded woman sneered around her cigar, and proceeded to mow the place over with her tommy gun. Sparks and splinters filled the air, along with screams, though amazingly no one seemed seriously injured or dead.

As the robbers fled, No-Nose Joe looked over his bar, furious, and realized Angie had carved a snake into the wall with bullets. That could only mean…

“The Crowley Gang!” he cursed.

Outside, the Crowley Gang was loading up into their shiny black Bentley, their getaway drivers lounging inside, looking cool and smooth in their suits.

“Step on it, Dat,” Tony ordered. “And Mat, better steer us to the orphanage first!”

“Roger, boss,” Dat winked.

“No problem,” Mat nodded, curling around the steering wheel and flashing his snaky tuxedo in some approximation of a smile.

The Bentley roared into the night as No-Nose Joe cursed and shook his fist, vowing vengeance, but the Crowley Gang was long gone, and with them the stolen orphanage money.

.

Aziraphale emerged from the library and wandered into the living room when all had been quiet for far too long, and observed the mess: the couch cushions acting as chairs, the knocked-over scattered stuffed animals, the teddy bear with the ripped snout sporting a nametag declaring him to be “No-Nose Joe”, the plate acting as the steering wheel on the arm of the couch. And there, tangled in a ball of limbs and scales on the rug, the children, snoozing while the rain outside petered out.

Aziraphale quietly tidied what he could, and pulled a blanket over the children as they slept. Something was sticking out of the couch nearby, something black and unfamiliar…Aziraphale picked it up, then frowned.

Where on earth had they gotten a plastic tommy gun toy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOMEONE (cough father cough) may have let them watch a noir detective film, someone else (cough junior cough) may have been completely incapable of letting it go, and SOMEONE (cough father again cough) might have conjured up his daughter a toy tommy gun without asking a lot of questions first.
> 
> Someone may also be about to receive a stern and thorough talking-to.


	17. Heaven and Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen...listen. There were two fics written along this vein in the last couple of days. Ultimately we decided they were too important to put here so they'll be...elsewhere, at a different time. For now, take this silly idea that was mostly Olwen's when I realized what today's prompt was going to be and, given The New Arrangement, I had a little bit of a miniature meltdown about it XD It's short but also it's late so what are you gonna do.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured, “you have to come see.”

Crowley, roused from his nap and still too sleepy to be sure if he was grumpy about it or not, let Aziraphale pull him by the hand up from the couch in the bookshop back room and upstairs to the flat, where the terrarium had been temporarily relocated for easier cleaning. Navigating the stairs on sleep-hazed feet was a chore, but as they ascended Crowley could hear the kids’ voices floating down the stairwell.

_No, crickets are better! They’re crunchy!_

_Mice are better! More meat!_

“What are they doing?” Crowley whispered as he and Aziraphale stopped just outside of the bedroom, where five little noodles were coiled on the bedspread, two on one side, two on the other, and one in the middle.

“Listen,” Aziraphale murmured back. Crowley did.

 _Crickets are better because there are more bugs in the world than anything else so they are environmentally astainable,_ Rosa said importantly.

 _But pinkie mice are babies and we are babies so we go together,_ Datura reasoned.

 _Good points,_ Clem, sitting in the middle, said. _Point goes to Hell Team for matching food._

“Are they…debating?” Crowley guessed.

“With their teams named Heaven and Hell,” Aziraphale nodded. “They’ve been at it for half an hour now.”

“Heaven and Hell, huh,” Crowley said. “The girls are Heaven, I assume?”

“And Junior and Datura are Hell, yes,” Aziraphale nodded. “I much prefer this iteration of them, don’t you?”

“What, of Heaven and Hell?” Crowley asked. “Oh, absolutely. Spawn over Head Office any day.”

 _Next topic,_ Clem announced, _no bedtime or dessert first!_

 _We want dessert first!_ Junior hollered.

 _No, we want it!_ Angelica hissed.

 _You got to pick first last time!_ Rosa cried.

 _I’m oldest, so I go first,_ Junior argued.

 _I like bedtime,_ Datura said.

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale giggled as the children devolved into an argument. “I suppose it was too much to hope for it to last a little longer, but you caught the end, anyway.”

“We ought to stop them, shouldn’t we,” Crowley sighed.

“If they don’t work it out on their own within a few moments, we certainly shall,” Aziraphale nodded.

In the end, the great debate between Heaven and Hell was declared a draw and was adjourned for playtime with Fathers instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Let Crowley and Aziraphale find new meanings for Heaven and Hell separate from their trauma 2k21)


	18. Feral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, some feral children. Kinda. Sorta. You'll see.

The predators moved as one through the dark terrain.

The most skilled of them, the smallest, took point, scenting the air thick with the smell of prey. The rest followed, flanking, following instinct. Their scales slid over the smooth, soft ground without a sound. They hunted.

Movement in the dark. The leader paused, gave the barest of hisses to her companions to halt. The movement continued for a moment, then abated. Soft snores filled the air again, vibrating through the ground, confirming their quarry’s location. Ever so slowly, the hunting party began to move again, silent and intent.

The leader led her hunting party over valley and hill, made large by the diminutive size of the hunter and the greatness of the prey, which only made the hunters more excited. But careful—careful. Couldn’t let excitement overwhelm caution. They hunted dangerous prey, observant prey. Even the increasingly-deeper snores couldn’t be taken for granted.

The leader flicked the tip of her tail, and the hunting party split, two flanking left, two flanking right, and the leader taking up the middle as they surrounded their target. As one, five serpents reared their heads and opened their mouths well-used to feeding well.

 _Tickle fight!_ The snabies cried at once, and descended onto their father to nuzzle and mouth at his head and neck until he woke up. Father awoke with a yelp and flailing but it was no use; he had been hunted, and Angelica and her siblings had prevailed. He now had to endure merciless tickling as his punishment, and soon was yowling and covering up his smiles to prove it.

“You got me,” Father said, his voice still sleep-grumbly. “Where’s your Azirafather?”

_Downstairs in the shop,_ Angelica said proudly, curling up on Father’s collarbone. _We gave him the slip._

“Don’t make a habit of it, young lady,” Father grimaced, and reached up to gather all of them together on his chest. “There. Well done, you lot, I didn’t even hear you coming.”

 _You were asleep, Father,_ Clem pointed out.

“I was,” Father said wryly, distributing head-scritches. “Well. Since I’m up now, what do you want to do?”

 _Play!_ Junior demanded, and Angelica couldn’t agree more.

“To the victors go the spoils, I suppose,” Father said, and yawned. “Alright. We can play.”

 _The mighty hunters prevail,_ Angelica declared, and fell to helpless giggling when Father tickled her stomach scales.

“Well, don’t get too cocky, mighty hunter,” Father grinned, and it was a particularly toothsome and gleaming-eyed grin, “because when you hunt monsters, the monsters fight back, you know.”

 _Monster! Run away!_ Datura cried, and like a shot the five of them took off again as Father rose and lumbered behind them, hissing as they shrieked and giggled. Already Angelica was devising ways to take the monster down and save the day. Later she would apologize to Azirafather for sneaking upstairs without him, but that was later. Right now she had a monster to defeat.


	19. Snake Attributes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hint: the chapter title is a lie.

Clem sat quietly on the floor while his siblings did their best to cause mayhem without waking up their parents, stretching his toes.

They were weird, toes. Five little nubbins on the end of each foot, coated in scales and angular in a way Azirafather’s certainly weren’t, and Father’s presumably were. Clem, person-shaped for only the second time in his life and much more content to sit and think about what he was doing than the disorderly ragamuffins currently building a tower to reach the biscuit tin in the kitchen, fiddled with the hem of the smock that Azirafather had manifested for him the last time he had tried out legs and pondered. Clothes were funny, as well, though not quite as humorous as Azirafather’s squawk when he realized that five small snakes had become five small children and none of them had a stitch between them, not being very familiar with the things.

Clem finished cataloguing his toes, then moved on to fingers. These were a bit more useful, all told. Marvelous invention, thumbs. Clem could do a great many things with his tail and anticipated doing more as he grew larger, but it was easier to hold and balance things with a greater surface area of intuitive limbs.

He prodded his chubby arms and his chubby legs, considered his chubby tummy and patted his chubby cheeks. Very round, this human body. That was alright, because Azirafather was also round, but Clem did admit that he preferred the sinuous form of his first-given body. Fat for regulating body temperature versus smooth, cool scales…difficult choice, but Clem would go with the latter, all told.

There was a crash in the kitchen, followed by silence. The silence stretched on, and when nothing apparently happened, the whispered arguing in the kitchen continued. Clem looked up the stairs, saw nothing, and went back to taking stock of himself.

According to what they had observed, even Father’s human form didn’t have scales popping up all over unless he was especially relaxed or stressed, yet Clem counted at least ten discrete scale patches on his person that he could see and eleven if he counted the stripe going up his spine, which he could not see but could feel. The eyes were the same, he knew, though could not tell from feeling his closed eyes.

Sidenote: eyelids were at once wonderful and unsettling. Blocking out light without ducking his head? Inspired. Bits of skin that moved independent of his wishes sometimes and canceled out his sight? Horrible.

Clem opened his mouth and prodded his teeth with his fingers. Blunt, flat, and orderly, no folding away or venom sacs anywhere. Not that Clem had venom sacs as a snake, or at least he didn’t think he did. Maybe he did and just didn’t know it. Human forms certainly didn’t (unless that’s what bosoms were for; Clem did have his doubts). Then he touched his hair. Soft, fluffy, and if he curled part of it out straight in front of his eyes, a shade of red lighter than Father’s. It felt like Azirafather’s hair, and Clem spent quite a bit of time petting it. This, he could also get used to, if required. It felt nice both to feel the texture of his hair and to feel warm fingers on his scalp, though Clem had a feeling it would feel even better if it wasn’t his own hands doing the stroking.

Now the final test.

Clem steeled himself, then wobbled upright on his legs. They shook and threatened to cave out from under him. He gritted his teeth. Come on, silly things. It couldn’t be that hard. The others had been walking almost immediately from the second they’d figured out the trick to shifting forms. He took a step and had to windmill his arms to keep his balance. Okay. One step down. Now another.

Clem took ten halting, unsteady steps before collapsing, panting. That was hard. That was…really, really hard. It’s not that his body didn’t know what to do, it’s just…he didn’t like it. And when Clem didn’t like something, his heart pounded in his chest and his breathing got all funny and it was hard to do much of anything, let alone something he didn’t want to do and wasn’t very good at.

Crawling, though. Crawling was alright.

Clem crawled back to his original seat on the floor, then sighed. He was done. He climbed up onto the chair that was pushed up to the table where their enclosure was located, then shifted, flowing up over the table’s surface and back into the tank. There. So much better.

And not a moment too soon; there was an even louder, earsplitting crash from the kitchen, followed by a startled yelp, a second of deep, dreadful silence, and a cresting wail that surely signaled that someone was hurt. Clem quickly curled up as if he had been sleeping the whole time and watched from safety as Father and Azirafather thundered down the stairs and into the kitchen. Clem could hear the commotion—apparently there was at least one bruised head and one banged-up back, and a mess of biscuits all over the counter and floor—and contented himself by arranging his coils, enjoying the feeling of a more simple, streamlined corporation. There. That felt best.

The other form was fun, every now and then. But Clem knew where he belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just felt like exploring the snabies directly after they first started shapeshifting, and especially Clem, since the poor dear has such a hard time of it (also the inherent comedy of Clem doing something calm and mundane while his siblings hatch an elaborate heist in the background never gets old). Also I know Clem probably sounds way too smart for his age but blame Kedreeva, the source material did it first XD Very much the same feeling as "inner monologue by Morgan Freeman" territory, in my opinion.
> 
> (Also yes please imagine you are Aziraphale and you have just barely gotten used to being a parent to five infant snakes, and suddenly the bookshop is filled with the human pitter-patter of five nakey babies instead. Snapping them smocks to wear was his first shock response, imo. Also imo their first iteration as "humans" appear to be between three and five years old; by the time they make it to the cottage, their child forms look closer to five or six. And by the time the girls start school, they appear eight and slow down after that. A ten year maturation period is quite a thing to go through but I suppose when your parents presumably sprang into being fully formed and mature it isn't that strange.)


	20. Seduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And for my final trick, Quilly tackles one more subject that many Wiggleverse participants have, but I personally haven't, and boy is it fun...

Azirafather was clearly nervous.

“It’s just, I’ve never done such a thing, children,” Azirafather fretted. “What if I get it wrong?”

 _You can’t get it wrong,_ Clem said contentedly from the pile of snake siblings in a basket in the library. _If you’re snake-shaped, in this case, you’ve done it._

 _We’re not actually real snakes, either, Azirafather,_ Rosa added. _And Father even less so._

 _Go on, Father will be so surprised,_ Junior encouraged.

Azirafather sighed and wrung his hands.

 _It’s alright, Azirafather,_ Datura said quietly. _You’re going to be brilliant at it, even if you mess up._

Angelica added her emphatic nod and encouraging hiss. Azirafather took another deep breath.

“Well…here I go,” Azirafather said, and despite themselves, Junior and his siblings tensed. For a few moments, nothing happened.

Then there was a pop of displaced air, and where Azirafather had been standing before in his cozy library was now an elegant white snake, like Rosa but bigger, and with a gold-scaled belly and blue eyes like Rosa and Angelica’s.

 _Did I do it?_ Azirafather asked, then flexed his jaw. _Oh, my, that’ssss different._

 _You did it!_ Junior crowed, and was the first to flow out of the basket and onto the floor, slithering as fast as he could towards Azirafather as the others followed.

 _Azirafather, you’re so handsome!_ Rosa cried. _Look, you’re like me!_

 _I am, it sssseems,_ Azirafather said, and giggled. _Oh, dear. I ssshould really get that under control, sssshouldn’t I?_

 _Why? It’s niccccce,_ Datura said, the tip of their tail vibrating with excitement.

 _Flick your tongue first, Azirafather, really take in all the smells,_ Angelica directed. Azirafather did as instructed and gasped.

_Oh, my, it’sss certainly intenssse, isn’t it?_

_Try moving around next,_ Angelica said.

It took the better part of an hour for them to teach Azirafather the basics of being a snake, but Junior was pretty confident that Azirafather had gotten the hang of it. Right on time, too; according to the wall clock, Father was due back any minute.

 _Okay,_ Junior instructed, _Father’s going to be back any minute. We need to get into position. You first, Azirafather._

 _Quite right,_ Azirafather nodded, and began to slither out of the library at a careful pace. Junior zipped ahead, impatiently circling the hearth rug until Azirafather curled up in a gold and white pile in the middle of it. Once Azirafather was in position, the rest of them cuddled up nearby, though there was some arguing as to whether or not curling up directly on top of Azirafather was a good idea.

 _Get off!_ Rosa hissed as Junior went to do just that. _Father has to see all of him, he can’t see him if you’re blocking the view!_

 _But he smells good!_ Junior protested.

 _It’s alright, I don’t mind,_ Azirafather said.

 _No,_ Rosa said firmly. _Father gets to touch Azirafather first. Then we get a turn._

 _Fine,_ Junior grumped, and merely curled himself into a ball closest to Azirafather’s head. Azirafather flicked him with his tongue and nudged the side of one of his coils with his snout, and that was alright, Junior supposed.

They all felt Father’s footsteps approaching the door before it actually opened. Azirafather made a surprised hum, and then they heard Father’s boots in the hall.

“Spawn? Angel?” he called, and when he came into the living room, Father stopped dead and his jaw clenched.

 _Surprisssse, my dear,_ Azirafather said, lifting his head from his coils and giving a definitive head bob.

“I,” Father said, “you—this—it—hgk—”

 _You might as well come join us, Father,_ Rosa said. Father made a few more funny sounds, then shifted down so fast Junior wasn’t entirely sure Father hadn’t just teleported himself as a snake. Father was still the largest, black and glossy and strong, but the way he approached Azirafather made him seem small. His head was bobbing and weaving as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

 _What brought this on, then?_ Father asked, his voice rough with shock.

 _Oh, jusssst fancied a change,_ Azirafather said, and if Junior had to guess, he thought Azirafather sounded coy. Almost flirty. Gross.

 _Naptime now? All of us?_ Clem asked hopefully.

 _Oh, why not,_ Father said, and in no time had his bulk wrapped around all six of them, his head butting up against Azirafather’s.

 _Azirafather?_ Datura asked.

_Hmm?_

_Do you like it? Being a snake, too?_

_Oh, my dearsss, it’s wonderful,_ Azirafather assured them, and lifted his head to administer light hissing snake kisses to every small snake head (though Junior got him first when it was his turn and Azirafather nuzzled him, chuckling. They were going to have so much fun playing later, Junior could tell).

 _Suits you, angel,_ Father rumbled.

 _I’m glad you think ssso,_ Azirafather said, resting his chin on top of Father’s head and rubbing gently. Father stiffened, then flicked Azirafather’s nose with his tongue.

 _Not with the spawn present, Aziraphale,_ Father said, definitely sounding a little strangled.

 _What?_ Azirafather asked innocently, and then nudged his head under Father’s chin. Father made more weird noises and curled his coils tighter around them all.

 _Later,_ Father said sternly. _Naptime now._

That sounded great to Junior, honestly. He nestled in the comfortable space between Father and Azirafather’s scales and drifted off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flirty Azirafather is flirty :P (according to the Googles, snakes flirt by rubbing their chin on top of their paramour's head. Not with the snabies present, please, fathers, gross XD)
> 
> Thanks for a fun month, y'all! Gonna cap it here. Thanks so much for joining us on this journey, and please know that we adore each and every one of you. Stay healthy, stay safe!


End file.
